


Waiting

by xueyang



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, aka I don’t like how I wrapped it up, this a kinda a scrap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:38:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xueyang/pseuds/xueyang
Summary: Beware for the caves have ears. Sleep well for your dreams will bring tears.





	Waiting

Diarmuid sat against the cave wall, Grainne resting against his side. A steady drip of water was echoing in the damp darkness, lulling him to sleep slowly. A man sat at the entrance of the cave, guarding them from the Fianna and Fionn’s wrath, a lance his only weapon. He couldn’t remember the guard’s face or his name, but he blamed it on how tired he was and how warm Grainne felt as she huddled ever so close to him.

Closing his eyes, he began to succumb to the darkness unconsciousness brings, letting the tendrils of reality break as his imagination takes over. He was used to dreams. His father often talked to him through them - his biological father that is.

When he opened his eyes, he was seated in a dark room, no light source in sight. His hands and legs were tied to something, likely a chair, and the air was practically boiling. A guttural growl sounded beside his ear but when he turned his head, the sound stopped and no presence was felt. A flick of red in the corner of his eyes, but it was gone in a flash. Another splash of red but this time Diarmuid caught it.

A red coat.

It was luxurious looking, definitely pricey in Ireland if sold at all, and it swayed with an unseen wind. The coat shaped a figure, but he could not see any defining characteristics of it, only broad shoulders and right before Diarmuid called out, it disappeared.

With a sigh he sat back, staying alert but wondering why he was being shown these things. His father was not one to send cryptic messages and images and Diarmuid wasn’t one to just sit around and ponder meanings of things or of life itself.

Another image, another figure.

This one was tall and lean and he could easily identify that it was a man. He was wearing an interesting (and tight) get up that made Diarmuid scrunch his nose. Who was giving this kid fashion advice? Long blue hair was held in a low ponytail and piercing red eyes looked back at him (through him really), a snarl appearing on his lips. His mouth opened in what was probably a shout as he moved, a red spear suddenly pointing directly towards Diarmuid’s chest.

Suddenly this didn’t feel like a dream anymore.

Just when Diarmuid was sure the man would pierce his heart, take his life from him, the image morphed. It changed into someone Diarmuid did not want to see here. His dreams were his escape from reality yet it seemed even his dreams wished to torment him now.

Grainne.

Grainne stood there, her eyes screaming innocence but her mouth curled into a frown. That spear the man had been holding was now in her delicate hands, fingers grasping it as if she had held a weapon for longer than an hour in her life. It was still aimed at his chest.

Heat licked at the back of his neck and he clenched his teeth, pulling at his restraints in a wordless panic. His lover’s sweet voice filled the empty air, a song that she often hummed while doing mundane tasks. _Had he been tricked? Was she really a killer?_

_Was killing as easy as washing clothes to her?_

The madness of the situation ate away at his senses as she pulled back, ready to strike. A cruel smile was twisting her lips and the sugar sweetness in her eyes had faded to a mute brown.

Empty.

Bile rose in his throat. His face grew red as he struggled for breath, panic tightening his throat and trapping his vomit. She would be the cause of his death. This was a warning.

When Grainne finally struck him, he could’ve sworn he saw blood trailing from her eyes and lips, as if mirroring his own state.

When Diarmuid awoke, the cave was empty. Not a soul was in sight and any sign of anyone even entering the cave was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, he stood up with a slight stumble, shuffling towards the entrance. His bones cracked and creaked like he hadn’t walked or even stretched in decades, his mouth was bone dry.

_What the hell was going on?_

When he reached the opening of the cave, the familiar scene of the forest at night greeted him. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked, but again there was no one around. Perhaps Grainne ran away with that young guard. If so, it was probably for the best.

A snap.

Diarmuid turned in the direction of the sound, eyes straining in the darkness to see anything, anyone, that could be out there. A tentative step sounded from the right and Diarmuid palmed the knife he kept strapped to his side, ready to defend himself. A flash of red and that coat from his dream was in front of him, no longer shielding the person who wore it. White hair gleamed in the darkness, twin swords by the mysterious man’s side.

“Diarmuid.” The man muttered, stepping towards him slowly, as if he were a frightened animal. “Do not be afraid.”

Diarmuid huffed and took a defensive stance, eyes narrowed and ready for any unexpected movements. “Were you sent by Fionn, stranger?”

Anger flashed in brown eyes and Diarmuid blinked as the man scoffed, hatred curling in his lip. “Do not speak the name of a man who disgraces himself just by breathing.”

An enemy of Fionn’s?

“Fionn is still my lord. Do not speak of him in this way or face my blades.” Diarmuid warned cautiously, but curiosity gnawed at him irritatingly.

A roll of the eyes and the stranger was gone in a flash, appearing directly behind him in a whirlwind of leaves. Diarmuid inhaled sharply, moving to turn towards the man when strong arms wrapped around his waist, a chin resting atop his shoulder. “It’s time to wake up, Diarmuid.”

Frozen, fear stole his ability of speech, and he merely blinked at this strange man that held him as if he were a lover. “It’s time to wake up. We’ve left Master waiting far too long.”

A weird light appeared in the distance, growing by the second, and the man gently pushed him forward. “The first death it always the hardest. You will die many times, Diarmuid, but Master will always welcome you back.” Stumbling, Diarmuid let the man guide him towards the light as a weird sense of exhaustion took over his rationality.

Archer’s - the name of the man floated into his mind like a forgotten habit - words made no sense, but a part of him was beginning to trust this stranger. Not everyday did balls of light appear like this, though, so perhaps Diarmuid was just losing it and the last bit of survival instinct told him to stay with the other.

Stepping up to the light, Archer turned around and held his hand out, eyes gentle as he looked at him. “Come. We’ll go together.” Diarmuid frowned, hesitating just a little bit, before finally taking the others hand. Warmth flooded his every sense and a smile grew on his face. He was supposed to be with this man.

A chuckle and Archer led him into the light - portal? -, fingers threaded gently with Diarmuid’s.


End file.
